With a groan, he knotted his fingers together and prayed the first
real prayer his heart had ever uttered. It was wordless and formless,
just an inarticulate cry for help in the hour of need.
The answer came when he looked again at Carter. Something in the
frenzied face brought a sudden recollection to his mind.
"We can't judge him by usual standards; he's bearing the sins of his
fathers. We have to look on men like that as we do on the insane."
They were the judge's own words.
Sandy jumped to his feet, and, helping and half supporting Carter,
persuaded him to go out to the buggy, promising that he would not give
him up.
At the Willowvale gate he led the horse into the avenue, then turned
and ran at full speed into town. As he came into the square he found
only a few groups shivering about the court-house steps, discussing
the events of the day.
"Where's the crowd?" he cried breathless. "Aren't they going to start
from here?"
An old negro pulled off his cap and grinned.
"Dey been gone purty near an hour, Mist' Sandy. I 'spec' dey's got dat
low-down rascal hanged by now."
CHAPTER XXII
AT WILLOWVALE
There was an early tea at Willowvale that evening, and Ruth sat at the
big round table alone.
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